Reblogging again because this has to be the best gif I’ve ever seen.
Tag: johnlock
#no but #just look at him #fucking look #at his eyes full of tears#not moving in the slightest #just focused on one point#he doesn’t even trust himself anymore #his mouth slightly open as if to say ‘i’m sorry’#he’s broken #he’s guilty #he’s not the cocky detective anymore #the self-centred genius#no #he’s lost #he’s afraid #he’s petrified because he knows he could cheat death#but he can’t cheat himself #and his emotion #his feelings to john#he could stop moriarty but he knows he won’t be able to stop john #if he decides to leave#and that’s breaking him inside #tearing his heart apart#’cause he knows that if john leaves him #he won’t live#he won’t be able to focus on anything anymore #because nothing’s as important as john#nothing #nothing and no one could possibly replace him #so if he loses john #he loses everything
John is such a man to me. Beautiful, warm, kind and strong.
Yeahhhhhh drawing kiss pics are really hard but I think this upside down kiss was somehow a success! I love these two. They’re so precious ;;
↳ one/four otps – johnlock
12. Making out
sherlock meme & four otps [¼]
He said John’s name. TWICE.
I can’t deal with life anymore. There is agony on my face. And there isn’t a picture for that.
Another lazy doodle.
the sentiment behind this is blinding.
this is one of the most brilliant pieces of Sherlock art I’ve seen O-O
“Case,” he reminds me.
“No,” I reply simply.
“Not today?” he asks.
“Quite right,” I agree.
“I won’t complain,” he purrs.
“Neither shall I,” I return.
A chuckle. “You’re putting me first,” he notes. (He grins.)
A huff. “On lazy days only,” I grumble. (I lie.)
There’s silence. I can all but hear the cogs turning in his brain: rusted gears grinding against one another, the scrape of metal slow and steady, like his heartbeat beneath my fingers cradled on his neck.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” he catches on.
“How ever do you mean?” I tease him.
He sighs and shifts closer. My left hand dances down to the small of his back, writing notes to a symphony not yet performed My mind doesn’t play it as I pen it on his jumper-covered skin. It is an unexpected relief.
I know he intends to say more; I can feel his jaw working side-to-side in thought, clearly thinking about the sentence beforehand. Is it truly so difficult to formulate six words?
“You’re brilliant and I love you,” John utters as he nuzzles into my neck.
Oh.
I briefly consider maintaining our pattern of numbered sentences, but the warm breaths on my skin distract me from preparing a proper sentence. Relenting, I hum quietly. John’s warmth, beside and atop me, is greater than the sun’s, whose light peeks through the blinds and barely misses my face. It shines in his blonde-grey hair and gives him a gentle slow. I smile faintly; my eyes close.
“You, too,” I murmur.
c'est la vie on this bitch of an earth 